One
by AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: One year, twelve months, twelve moments. One baker, one barber, one love. Sweenett.
1. January

_This is going to be a collection of stand-alone but somewhat connected short one shots. I'll try to construct them in such a way that they describe twelve possible events (each taking place in a different month of the year) concerning Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd, beginning somewhere between "A Little Priest" and "The Final Scene" and leading to an alternate ending. Most of the story will be rated T to be safe, but one of the later chapters might be M rated._

_My story "Miracles" is probably on hold for a while because it's too time consuming for me to write updates for that fic at the moment, but I hope that you'll enjoy this instead =)_

* * *

**One**

January

"Mrs. Lovett?"

Sweeney Todd's voice was somewhat hoarse from rare use when it broke the heavy silence of his room.

"Yes?" the baker asked, her hand already on the handle of the door. She had just placed a hot cup of soup on a table right next to him, hoping that the delicious smell of it would invite him to eat _this_ time.

Although she had brought him meals three times a day for weeks now, he had never spoken to her before as she did so. Even a 'thank you' was something that he didn't bother himself with. He seemed to think that he didn't have to be grateful for her devotion to him because he hardly ate the breakfast, lunch or dinner that she always made for him anyway.

So that's why her heartbeat quickened in a combination of fear and anticipation when she walked towards him, eager to hear whatever he had to say.

"What's your first name?"

"_What?!"_

This shocked and seemingly offending word had been said before she realized that this was the best way to destroy Mr. Todd's apparent curiosity regarding her first name. His question was so unexpected however that she couldn't help herself. Besides, she felt that she did need some sort of confirmation of what he had just said. She was sure that she had heard him say those words, even though his voice had been soft, but this didn't necessarily mean that he had actually spoken them. Her fantasies and dreams tended to cloud her judgement and senses her at the most inappropriate moments.

"Nothing," Sweeney said, too quickly.

The barber was probably horrified by what he just had said, although it was a mystery to her why he had asked it in the first place – _if _he had done so_._ Mrs. Lovett however was a stubborn woman and the words that he just seemed to have mumbled were too promising just to be taken back like this.

"What did you say?" she asked carefully, standing as still as she could, as if the slightest movement would break the unexpected moment. It was not that she was capable of moving anyway now that it seemed that the barber had asked her for her first name.

"Your name," he said reluctantly, staring at the floor as if she wasn't even there. "Your first name."

"Eleanor," she said breathlessly when it was as clear as could be to her that she wasn't dreaming. It _was_ hard to believe that he was actually asking her _this_, but she was rather sure now that her mind wasn't deceiving her.

"Eleanor," he said, repeating her name as if trying to taste the sound of it. The baker didn't know if such a thing was possible, but it certainly felt like it when the barber's voice caressed every syllable.

She shivered involuntarily, him pronouncing her first name being one of the most seductive things that she had ever heard. He doubtlessly had no idea what he was doing to her, let alone that he was aware of the fact that his voice sounded truly wonderful when he wasn't shouting threats to her or the world in general, or mumbling words of vengeance and hatred for Judge Turpin.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked, feeling a little more at ease and confident. She doubted that he would actually give an answer to that urgent question of hers, but she would never know if she didn't try. Besides, it was not that _he_ would continue the intriguing conversation.

He looked up briefly, but cast his gaze down immediately as his eyes met her curious and hopeful ones.

"It suddenly seemed strange to me that I lived here for so long without knowing your first name."

She hadn't really thought about this; in fact, she had never been aware of the fact that Mr. Todd didn't even know her first name. He had known it in the past but he had clearly forgotten it. She wasn't offended though; the tormented man couldn't even really remember his late wife so she could hardly blame him for forgetting her first name. He had never used it in the old days anyway, even though she had often insisted that he did.

Sweeney didn't say more and just stared out of the large window of his tonsorial parlour instead, as if nothing had happened.

She wanted to say something, tell him that he could use her first name to address her like she had done numerous times in the past, but the barber didn't even seem to realize that she was still there – or that she had ever been there, that the short conversation had ever taken place to begin with.

The baker sensed that leaving him now was the best thing to do. It was hard to remember during rare moments like these, but he _was_ a murder who could go from quiet and seemingly calm to furious and almost _mad_ within mere seconds. Doing something that would displease him now was the least thing she wanted to do, both because of his and her own sake.

Taking in a deep breath of air, she went back outside, closing the door as carefully behind her as her slightly shaking hands allowed her.

_Her name_. Sweeney Todd had asked her for _her first name_ and he had repeated it as if it was some sort of exotic curiosity.

To any other woman, it wouldn't have been much. In fact, even Mrs. Lovett doubted whether the barber would actually remember it the next time she'd bring him his meal – but he _had_ asked.

Smiling broadly, the baker went back to the pie shop, not aware of the merciless wind that tugged at her clothing and the snowflakes that fell on her skin and hair.

The sound of Sweeney Todd saying her first name played in her head for the rest of the day.


	2. February

February

"Eleanor?"

The auburn haired baker looked up from the book that she was reading, her eyes widening slightly when she saw Mr. Todd standing on the threshold of her parlour.

Even though he had remembered her first name, something that pleasantly surprised her, and even used that name to address her when there was no one else around, he had mostly been as distant towards her as he had always been, not speaking more to her than was necessary.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she said, the familiar flutter in her stomach and her blushing cheeks making it hard for her to think properly.

Mr. Todd approached her, looking at an empty space of the couch she was already sitting on with a questioning look.

She nodded eagerly, nervousness and excitement battling for domination within her as she moved to the edge of the couch, clearing more than enough space for the barber and thus showing him that she would like him to sit next to her.

He approached her hesitantly and a little reluctantly, but he seated himself right next to her nonetheless.

Mrs. Lovett was glad that she had just lit a fire in the hearth, because it was nicely warm in the parlour now, something that he would hopefully appreciate, and the light that the flames produced made it easier for her to study his stern face. She was relieved because Toby wasn't with them; no matter how fond she was of the boy, she knew very well that the barber and he didn't like each other and whatever Mr. Todd was going to say to her, she didn't want the young boy to hear it. This was something between her and the barber and as long as Toby was cleaning tables in the now quiet pie shop, he couldn't disturb anything.

Sweeney cleared his throat, staring at the flames. It was obvious that he didn't know how to begin exactly. She wanted to encourage him, but resisted the urge. If there was one thing that she had learned, it was that she had to give him all the time and space he needed. So she just sat there, looking at him, waiting until he had sorted his thoughts and was ready to speak.

"When... when your husband died," he said at length, "how did you go on?"

"It was quite different for me," she said, choosing her words very carefully when she realized what he was asking exactly. She knew that anything she said would be placed in his own context, that was coloured almost completely by the memory of Lucy Barker. "Albert and I never... well, our marriage can't be really compared to Lucy's and yours."

"Why not?" he asked, looking up at her. The intensity of his eyes made it hard for her to think and she was somewhat relieved when he removed his gaze after a few moments, as if sensing her discomfort, continuing his staring contest with the fire.

"Albert and I didn't love each other."

"Did your parents force you to..."

He didn't even look at her this time, but his interest was enough to make her temperature rise in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.

"No, it wasn't like that. My parents died a few years earlier; I can hardly remember them. I grew up with my two brothers in the house of my aunt. It was horrible – the poor woman did all she could, but there wasn't enough money to feed her own children, let alone us. My brothers and I had to steal in order not to starve. One time, I was caught in the pie shop that I usually went to if I had to eat – by Albert. I thought that he was going to kill me – instead, he said that I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen."

She too was staring at the fire while she reminisced, blushing as she remembered the events as if they had taken place only a few weeks ago instead of more than two decades.

"A few weeks later we were married," she sighed. "Of course, it wasn't a good idea. He was ten years older than I was, I didn't even know him... I was hardly more than a girl. But I didn't have a choice, or did I? It was that, or ending up on the streets for the rest of my life sooner or later."

She trailed off as she remembered those days of confusion and fear.

"And?"

Flattered and rather surprised by his curiosity and attention, she continued, even though she wasn't fond of the part of her story that followed.

"Soon it was clear that we didn't suit each other at all. I think he was genuinely attracted to me at first, but this faded within the first year of our marriage. There were other girls that caught his eye... which actually was a relief because he began to leave me alone at night."

She sighed, smiling sadly as she recalled the pain and humiliation that she had initially experienced when she had found out that her husband slept with other women. But how pleasant it had been to be alone at night, instead of having to endure the urges his demanding body. After a while, she was actually quite happy with Albert's behaviour. She understood him, in a way. Marrying had been a foolish thing that couldn't be undone. She would've been unfaithful to her husband as well, if only the handsome man, who had began renting the room above her home a few months after she had married, wouldn't have been so loyal to his wife. Only when Albert's health began to fail, he stayed home again. She had accepted him once more, nursed him, sensing that he wouldn't live much longer and hoping that he would leave his shop and house to her. He had; in the end, he had been good to her.

"I never knew," Mr. Todd said quietly. "The two of you always seemed so... happy together."

Mrs. Lovett shook her head. Sometimes she truly couldn't understand how naïve the barber had been in the old days. Everything that had happened before his banishment had taken place in a world that was filled with his love for Lucy Barker and little else; he had never really looked beyond his own happiness.

"I'm sorry Mr. T," she said, suddenly quite eager to change the subject. If they would continue talking like that, she was afraid to tell him things that he shouldn't know, or at least, not yet. But it was easy to reveal deep secrets accidentally to a willing listener, especially if this person happened to be the one you had been in love with for two decades. "I really wish that I could help you with this, but I... I never lost someone the way you have."

It was extremely frustrating. Sweeney asked her help for something like this at last but she truly didn't know how she could lessen the pain that the absence of his wife caused. She was more than ready to replace Lucy personally, but the barber himself would probably never be. Hadn't she tried all she could already?

"You should be glad," he said after a long moment of silence. "The pain of not being with her, the knowledge that she is _gone_... it's unbearable."

He stared at the flames in the hearth with unseeing eyes and the baker's heart ached, and not only because of the barber's misery. She knew so much more about those unendurable feelings than he thought, having felt them herself in a way that was quite similar to the way Mr. Todd had.

But she didn't think of her own longing as she scrutinized Sweeney's face. Often it was hard to see him for what he really was, but now it was horribly clear. He was a murderer, yes, but he truly was something that was, in a way, equally terrible. He was a broken man with a tormented soul, who had lost everything that a human being could possibly lose.

Desperate to comfort him, she gently placed her hand on his upper leg, shivering as she felt the coldness and unexpected fragility of his limb. The poor man truly neglected himself.

"But try to see it this way," she said quickly, pulling her hand away as she saw the shocked expression on his face and felt his body freeze. "At least, the two of you _have_ been together for several years."

"I can't remember them."

Mrs. Lovett flinched, both because of the harshness of his words and the meaning of them. For the first time, he admitted to her that he had forgotten what living with his wife had been like. And there was that little voice in the back of her head, screaming how happy _she_ would be to have even _one day_ with the barber like Lucy had month after month.

"But surely, you are grateful for the time that you lived together," she said tentatively, "you are glad that you _have_ known her, aren't you?"

"I try to tell myself that," he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper, "but I can't believe it any longer. Sometimes I wonder if it hadn't been better for both of us if we'd never..."

The baker stared at him, not believing what she was hearing. He was totally oblivious to her and the way his words affected her. She tried to find something to say, but for once she found that she couldn't.

"I shouldn't have come here," he said suddenly, a slight hint of panic in his voice.

He stood up and before she could even open her mouth, he was gone.

But even when he had disappeared, some of his presence lingered, the words that he had spoken forming a lump in her throat and the quiet despair of his voice still hanging heavily in the air, causing her to shiver. Suddenly, the fire didn't seem to be spreading any warmth after all.


	3. March

March

Eleanor had been silent that day – too silent. Mr. Todd wasn't surprised when she had broken down at last once they had come home. But her crying hadn't decreased; although she had seemingly calmed down several times that afternoon, she had always began to sob again, the sounds of it reaching his ears through the wooden floor of his barber shop.

He didn't blame her. In fact, if he hadn't felt so awkward when he had stood right behind her at the small grave, he would've been proud of her for controlling her emotions the way she had, only surrendering to her grief when no one else could see her. She had proven to be a strong woman once more. It was because of her that he had resisted the urge to kill the unfortunate human being that was under the impression not only that Sweeney was the father of the child that was being buried, but that he was married to Mrs. Lovett as well.

He hadn't _wanted_ to go to the funeral, but he had done so because she had asked him to. It was not that he was _glad_ that the boy was dead; even though he couldn't stand the young lad, Sweeney knew that Eleanor was very fond of him and loved him as if he actually were her son. And so, for her sake, he had joined her. It was the least he could do after all that she had done for him.

But as the hour grew late and her crying didn't cease, he couldn't stand it anymore and he knew that he had to do something. The sobs that tormented her weren't doing his nerves any good either. Besides, he was tired after having been forced to behave civilly among mourning people for the greater part of the afternoon, but sleeping would be even harder this way than it usually already was.

Half a minute later, he entered the pie shop, he too feeling that something was missing as he beheld the now completely silent pie shop. Usually the boy would've been working there, casting suspicious glances at the barber like he had done that one time that he had come downstairs at night to visit the baker.

He opened the door to Mrs. Lovett's parlour quietly, not knowing what to find there.

It was even worse than he had feared. The baker was in the middle of the room, lying on the floor, her head buried between her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs, hugging herself. There were only a few rays of moonlight that illuminated the parts of the room that were closest to the window, but, the lack of light couldn't hide how horrible she looked.

Except for the tears that flowed down her cheeks, there were bags under her eyes, as if she was desperate for sleep but couldn't find the peace of mind that resting required. She had doubtlessly hardly slept since the boy had died two days earlier. Her hair was one big mess, the pins that usually kept it relatively neat having lost the battle against the wild curls at last. There was dirt on her clothing and the memory of how he had pulled the baker off Toby's grave only hours ago briefly entered his mind.

He didn't know what to do. It was obvious that she needed comfort, but he wasn't the right person to offer it. However, there was no one else who could help her now; even the last person who had cared for her was gone now.

And thus the demon barber himself sat down on the hard floor next to her, awkwardly placing a hand on her shoulder. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she turned around to face him and threw herself in his arms.

He was horrified; no one, _no one_, would voluntarily touch him. And she... she _embraced _him. For a moment he wondered if grief had driven had mad, but then he understood that she probably needed more than mere words of comfort. He wasn't sure whether he was still capable of doing so, but really, who else could she turn to?

Because of their few brief conversations earlier, he had found out that it was a somewhat pleasant thing to know that one wasn't entirely alone. The baker had taught him this, without being aware of it herself.

And now, she was the one who was alone and had just seen her entire world come crashing down around her. His humanity wasn't completely destroyed yet; he recognized that she needed him now for once. He decided that he would at least try to comfort her.

He moved one of his hands to the small of her back, rubbing it gently. He vaguely remembered that this had always been a good way to calm his wife when she was distressed. Mrs. Lovett however only cried harder and there was nothing else for him to do than holding her.

Sweeney couldn't tell how long they sat there on the floor. The baker clung to him, the grip of her arms around his chest almost painful, but he didn't mind. Basically having lost a child himself, he knew very well what she was going through.

And so he held her, for a seemingly infinite amount of time, her tears soaking his vest and her lose hair tickling his face.

"It's so unfair," she whispered at last, her voice almost inaudible because it was hoarse from crying and her face was pressed against the fabric of his clothing. "He was just a boy. He didn't deserve this. Not so suddenly... not like _this_."

Sweeney agreed with her. No matter his dislike for the boy, Toby's fate was cruel. However it had happened exactly, Sweeney wished that it hadn't, if only because of the baker. She hadn't been the same since she had seen the young boy's broken and blood covered body right after the carriage accident.

Knowing this from his own experiences, she would never be the same again. The death of her husband hadn't influenced her much, but Sweeney knew now that she hadn't really cared for him. She did love Toby, like a mother loved her son – she still did. The boy that she had adopted had become the child that her husband had never given her.

"And I'll never know," she muttered, more to herself than to him, tears still dropping off her face, "why it happened. Perhaps the carriage driver wasn't paying attention, or Toby didn't look around when he crossed the street, or there might have been something wrong with the horse that pulled the carriage..."

The barber understood her. He too had been trying to find answers to such kind of useless questions, as if this would make it easier to accept the passing of his wife and the disappearance of his daughter. He had learned that the answers didn't exist and he knew that Mrs. Lovett would realize the same thing. He could only hope that it wouldn't take her as long as it had taken him to see this.

"I'll never see him grow up, never know how he would've..."

The rest of the sentence was impossible to understand because another wave of sadness washed over, accompanied by a new river of tears.

Knowing that there was nothing more that he could do, that there was nothing that could ease her grief at that moment, he held her tightly and didn't stop doing so when she ran out of tears at last and fell asleep in his arms.

When he was sure that she wouldn't wake, he lifted her up and carried her to the couch that they had sat on only a few weeks ago, when life hadn't been pleasant either but still, much better than this.

He intended to lay her down and leave her there, but when they were seated on the couch together, it was clear that this was impossible. She was holding him so tightly that he couldn't get away from her without hurting her; it seemed as if she was literally clinging to the last person in her life that was left, even though she was asleep.

Mr. Todd also didn't really want her to be alone when she'd wake. He had experienced himself how horrible it was to wake up all alone, the presence of understanding human beings nothing but a memory.

And thus he stayed with her that night, making himself as comfortable as he could while he held the still slightly trembling woman in his arms, eventually falling asleep himself.


	4. April

_Exams are over so here I am again =D_

_I had some trouble writing about the game that's a major part of this chapter, both because I'm not familiar with the English terms regarding it and because the British rules are apparently different than the ones I learned. If there are any mistakes, place let me know =)_

_

* * *

_

April

Even though time passed quickly, Mrs. Lovett didn't seem to recover from the shock and emptiness in her life that Toby's passing had caused. Sweeney wasn't surprised by this; if there was one person who knew how hard it was to live after someone you love had died, it was him. But still, even to the demon barber there seemed to be something strange about her behaviour.

At first sight, there seemed to be nothing wrong with her. She worked, both in the shop and in her own household, and she ate and slept. Technically, she _was_ living, exactly like she had done for such a long time.

But whether he wanted to or not, he had grown to know the baker quite well. Mr. Todd could see that there was something odd about the way she moved and talked. There was no conviction or joy in her movements any longer. She didn't sing or hum anymore while she worked, she didn't laugh, she didn't even smile... Even though her body hadn't suffered like Toby's had, it seemed as if her soul had died along with his.

He did realize that she was behaving exactly like he did, acting as if nothing was wrong even though all details of anything she did betrayed what was really going on and that she felt the complete opposite of what she tried to suggest. He didn't like seeing her like that. She had lost a lot, but not _everything_ was taken from her. She, unlike him, had still reasons to live.

Sweeney also missed her cheerfulness, even though he didn't like to admit _that_. He had always been sure that her optimistic view of life didn't make _him_ feel any better, but now that it was gone he knew that it mysteriously had.

Because they were in a similar situation, he knew what she needed. The baker herself didn't know this – or at least, _hadn't _known - during all those times that she tried to make him feel better by offering him generous smiles, kind words and gestures that were supposed to be reassuring. But it didn't help, or at least, not enough. Even if he had been able to be as patient with her as she had been with him, which he was not, then it wouldn't have been enough.

No, what the baker needed was not sympathy – she had received more than enough of that already from the dozens if not hundreds of customers that she served to all on her own now that Toby was gone. She had to be stopped being reminded of what had happened every moment of her day.

Knowing that he had to do something before the baker's situation got even worse, he left his barber shop, heading for her parlour. He found it empty, which wasn't a surprise. It was only early in the evening and she was doubtlessly at work in the bakehouse, creating pies out of the men he had murdered that day. He didn't feel guilty for letting her get rid of the corpses even now. She was a strong woman who could handle such things and anything was better than doing nothing, because this would only give room for unwelcome, hauntings thoughts. He had experienced this himself for fifteen years.

But just working wasn't enough to distract the mind and Sweeney knew this very well too. Mrs. Lovett needed to have something to do that was more than a daily routine, something that would take her mind off all other things completely.

He vaguely remembered that she used to chatter about the games of draughts she and Toby played. They were both fond of the game but it was obvious that she hadn't played since the boy had died. Because this game would remember her of Toby very much, it probably wasn't the best choice, but he didn't know the interests of the baker well enough to be aware of other, similar things that she liked.

And so, he moved through her parlour, looking in drawers and cupboards, hoping to find what he was looking for. And indeed, after a few minutes he found the board and the box containing the set of pieces that belonged to it, a layer of dust covering both of them.

Quickly, he took the two items from the high shelf where the baker had stored them, and took them to a table in the corner of the room, where he placed both the white and the black stones on their correct starting position. Then, he waited.

Half an hour later, his patience was rewarded. The baker entered the parlour, a few drops of water on her skin suggesting that she just had cleaned herself after her work in the bakehouse was done but hadn't been very careful drying herself.

Her eyes widened when she saw him sitting in her room as if it was only natural, and when she noticed the board on the table, her face scrunched up in a combination of shock and sadness.

"I would like us to play a game," he said before she had the chance to speak.

"No," she said blankly, looking away from the board as if it was Toby's blood covered face.

"Alright," he answered, feigning indifference. "It wouldn't have been a good game anyway; I'm sure that you can't beat me."

For any normal person, the bait would be too obvious. But Mrs. Lovett wasn't thinking rationally. He knew very well that she possibly could beat him and that the idea of losing wasn't the reason that she didn't want to play, but he made sure that she didn't know that.

Glaring daggers at him, she sat down on the other chair, blinking to hold back another wave of tears.

"I don't want the white pieces," she said icily. "Toby always had those."

Shrugging, Sweeney turned the board around, so the black pieces were in front of her, indicating that she could take those if she wanted to. White wasn't exactly the colour that he preferred, but he was willing to make an exception now.

Because he had the white pieces, he was the one who had to start the game. Determined not to show her that he hadn't played for one and a half decade, he pushed one of the pieces in the front row to an adjoining black square.

The tears that she had tried to hold back were falling before she had even touched one of the pieces. He hadn't really expected anything else. It was very obvious that this was painful for her, but he sensed that he_ had_ to do something to distract her for a while and he didn't know any other way. Besides, if she wouldn't be confronted with those memories now, she would never have the courage to face them.

"I can't play," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Not now that Toby..."

"You _will_ play," he simply said.

"You can't _make_ me," she hissed, sobs wrecking her petite body even as she tried to suppress them.

It hurt him to see her like this, and he understood very well how she felt. But _she_ had an entire life ahead of her. She had told him recently that the death of her husband hadn't really affected and no matter how much she still loved Toby, she had to see that he hadn't been her _real_ son and that she shouldn't miss him as if he was. One day, she would, but first she had to understand that there were worse things that could happen, like losing the wife you actually loved or the girl who actually was your child. She, unlike him, had something to continue living for; the persons that life had taken away from her were ones that, eventually, she could live without.

But the baker was strong and didn't allow him to provoke her. However, he had to break her in order for her to be able to go on with her life – she could only climb out of the hell that her life was now once she had seen the absolute worst of it.

"You're _weak_," he whispered, feeling uncomfortable with the words even as he spoke them.

She stared at him, her wet eyes widening once more with shock and anger.

"Just because _you_ don't have any recent memories to hold on to, doesn't mean that I..."

The rest of the sentence was lost as the broken baker violently moved her arm over the table's surface, causing the board, the pieces and the box that had contained them to crash down onto the floor. She didn't even blink as the resulting noise echoed through the parlour and she collapsed on the table, burying her face in the crook of her left arm.

Mr. Todd bit his lip, forcing himself to stay calm. He shouldn't be surprised that she acted the way she did, he was the last person on earth after all who should lecture her like this. But she _could_ go on – she only needed to realize this. In order to do this, she had to begin _thinking_ again, and to do so he had to help her taking her mind off Toby.

As if nothing strange had happened, he stood up and picked the items off the floor, placing them on the table exactly as they had been, including the one piece that he had moved during his first turn.

After another long moment, she lifted her head slightly and peeked through her folded arms, trying to find out what he was doing without him being aware of this.

Pretending that he didn't do so indeed, he sat back, looking at nothing but the board and the pieces on it. She would try to resist doing what he had wanted her to, but in the past fifteen years he had learned quite a bit more about manipulating others than she had.

After a few minutes, she sat up abruptly, slamming on the table with a small fist while muttering darkly under her breath, and randomly moved one of her pieces towards Sweeney's.

His face betraying nothing of the triumph he felt, he immediately pushed the piece he had moved earlier once again, right before one of her black ones. He gave her an advantage this way, allowing her to capture one of his pieces without suffering a loss of her own, but she didn't take it. Without even looking at the piece he had moved, she blindly pushed another one towards the centre of the board and thus, the 'game' began.

All the baker's pieces disappeared off the board within mere minutes. She obviously wasn't actually thinking about the game and just moved a piece whenever it was her turn, hoping to be rid of him as soon as possible. But Sweeney was more determined than the baker was.

When the first game was over, he took the black pieces that he had captured and placed them back on her side of the board, in the starting position, and he did the same with his.

The baker's eyes narrowed as he did this, but after a short moment of hesitation she did join him when he started another game. She was more focused this time, her mind temporarily able to let go off the memories that the board and the pieces brought back and only a few stubborn tears escaped from her still wet eyes.

He beat her once again, but this time the game lasted more than fifteen minutes and when he placed the pieces once again in their initial position, fully intending to persuade her to play another game, she did so without resisting.

They played until midnight, both becoming unaware of the passing of time. Neither of them bothered to write down or even remember the score, but it didn't matter. It wasn't about winning or losing in the traditional sense of the word; they were both winning, but in a way that had nothing to do with the game.

Only when the clock in Mrs. Lovett's parlour chimed twelve, their concentration was broken, probably because they both were exhausted from focusing on the black and white pieces for hours without taking a break.

They simply left the board and the pieces the way they were, the piece that Eleanor just had moved standing in the middle of the board, facing the one that Sweeney had placed there in his previous turn.

As they stood up from the table, she muttered a 'good night', and so did he, watching how she left the parlour without looking back. It seemed like she wanted to get away from him as quickly as she could, as if she felt guilty because of the way she had spent her evening.

Sweeney slowly returned to his room, pleased with the developments of that evening in spite of the way they had just departed. During the evening, the baker's face had mostly been just as blank as it had been for a month, but a few times, he had seen the infamous glittering in her eyes, something which once had been normal but was so rare now. It had happened in the few moments that she was too engrossed in the game to think of anything else.

Strangely, the same had occurred to the barber himself. He too had experienced a few moments in which he had thought of nothing but tactics and tricks, wanting to beat the fanatic and clever baker. And that _was_ unexpected.

The evening had been a success indeed and he had the strong suspicion that they would continue the unfinished game, and start several new ones, the following evening.


	5. May

May

"Your dinner," Mrs. Lovett said, interrupting his thoughts concerning Judge Turpin as she placed a tray with a cup of soup on it in his room.

"Thank you," Mr. Todd muttered, looking at her briefly.

The two of them still didn't interact much and he wouldn't talk to her at all when it wasn't necessary, if it weren't for the fact that she had no one else to have a conversation with. It was not that the few sentences they muttered to each other during the day could be described as a 'conversation', but he was rather sure that the few words that they used were better than nothing at all.

"You aren't going to eat it, are you?" she asked quietly.

He frowned; usually she didn't bother him anymore about his eating habits and he had stopped trying to persuade her not to bring any food in the morning and in the evening, because he wouldn't eat it anyway. A piece of bread in the early afternoon was all he could manage to eat during the day.

"No, I'm not," he replied, not wanting to lie to her. In the past he had done so often if only to get rid of her annoying concern as quickly as he could, but he had grown to realize that she meant well and deserved better than being told lies frequently.

"You should eat some more Mr. T, you know that. How can you be ready to kill the Judge when you're starving?"

He turned around, facing her fully at last. He looked at her, noticing how thin she was, even more than usual, and that she was almost unnaturally pale.

"If there's someone here who should eat, it's you," he replied, turning his head back to the large window so he could keep an eye on the people walking in Fleet Street now that the last light of the day still allowed him to do so.

He had tried to persuade her to take better care of herself for quite a few times already but he knew that it was no use, just like she couldn't make him eat more than he did. They were both quite stubborn.

She sighed and stepped forward, until she was standing right next to him. He tensed, not familiar to be close to anyone, not even Mrs. Lovett, the only one in the entire city who he could rely on.

"It seems that we are both going to starve then," she said calmly, "without even being hungry."

He looked at her from the corners of his eyes, a part of his mind realizing how right she was and how strange it was that there was a human being who experienced this just like he did. As they stood together in silence, the barber felt an unexpected connection between them.

"Just the thought of eating makes me feel sick," he said after a long moment, for some reason wanting to explain to her why he didn't want to eat most of the food that she gave him so devotedly.

"Me too," she sighed. "How can I eat now that Toby can never eat another pie, or drink another glass of gin?"

Most other people would tell her that this didn't make any sense, that she was _alive_ even though the boy who had been like a son to her was dead and that he would've wanted her to continue living instead of behaving like she was deceased as well, but Mr. Todd knew exactly what she felt like. He really couldn't correct her because he felt just like she did.

They stood there for several long moments, until the sound of a rumbling stomach broke the silence.

"You _are_ hungry," Sweeney said.

"No," she said quickly, "that wasn't me."

"It wasn't me either."

"It was one of us and because it wasn't me, it must've been you," she said, obviously surprised herself. "It seems that you are hungry after all so you _are_ going to eat your dinner!"

At that very moment, another stomach began rumbling. They stared at each other, wanting to find out who was responsible for the sound as quickly as possible, only after a moment realizing that it were _both _their stomachs that objected against the little amount of food they had been receiving.

They looked at each other sheepishly, both shaking their head in disbelief.

"It seems that we have to eat the soup together," Mrs. Lovett said quietly.

Sweeney opened his mouth to disagree, but then realized that this was probably the only way that he could make her eat.

"Indeed," he replied.

In unison, they turned around, staring at the still steaming cup of soup with some suspicion, then they slowly approached the table on which the cup was standing, as if it was some kind of dangerous object that could explode any moment.

"Shall we both eat half of it?" he asked, focusing his eyes on the baker once more.

She seemed to dislike the idea at first, but then she nodded reluctantly. She too probably realized that this was the only way that she could make him eat some of the soup.

The only place in his room where they could sit somewhat pleasant was his small, unmade bed. Not wanting them to go downstairs because Mrs. Lovett might change her mind if they would do so, he took the tray and sat down on the edge of his bed, placing the wooden item on his lap and gesturing her to sit down next to him.

She did so with some eagerness and he moved the tray to the right, so it could lean on her her left leg and his right one, so the cup of soup on it was right between the two of them.

"You first," she said, handing him the spoon that was also lying on the tray.

Taking it, he slowly pushed the tool into the soup and then brought it to his mouth, swallowing reluctantly.

Except for a bit of pie when he had returned to London, he had never actually eaten anything that she had prepared – he only dared taking some of the bread that she bought him and offered him together with whatever it was that she made for lunch. In fact, his entire body wasn't used anymore to having anything to eat after an imprisonment of more than fifteen years. The soup however turned out not to be as bad as her pies... in fact, it was quite delicious and very edible, in spite of his general dislike for food.

"It's good," he said, incapable of hiding the surprise in his voice completely.

He was almost tempted to take another spoonful, but then he realized that there was a reason that he had agreed to do this in the first place. He shoved the cup to Mrs. Lovett's side of the tray, only then realizing that there was only one spoon.

But before he could find a solution for this, she simply snatched the spoon out of his hand and took a reluctant bit of soup herself, carefully avoiding the meat and vegetables that were in the cup, making it once again clear that she wanted to eat as little as possible.

Sweeney didn't know what shocked him more: the fact that she had used the same spoon as he did or that she was actually eating something at last. He didn't have too much time to think about this however because she quickly gave the spoon to him.

The barber didn't want to touch anything that she had just had inside of her mouth, let alone pushing it between his own lips as well, but as she looked at him with expectation, he found himself taking it to move another spoonful of soup into his mouth. The taste of it was enough to make him forget where the spoon had been before. The baker really seemed to have an unexpected talent for making soup.

When he offered her the spoon again, she took it immediately and so they continued to eat spoonfuls of soup in turns. Only a few minutes later, the cup was empty and Mr. Todd was glad to see that his landlady's cheeks weren't as pale as they had been for weeks. Instead, a faint blush proved that the soup had done her good. She wasn't the only one however who had benefited from his plan, but he would realize that only much later.

"We should do that again," she said quietly, her voice neutral even though there was a flicker of hope visible in her eyes.

"Yes," he replied, some more warmth spreading through his body as he realized that his plan was working even better than he had hoped.

"Tomorrow morning, breakfast at seven, downstairs?"

He could tell that she was nervous, afraid that she asked too much of him. The fact that she didn't say more than was absolutely necessary was another sign of this.

"I'll be there," he simply said, this time noticing that it weren't her lips only that quirked upwards slightly.


	6. June

June

She hadn't returned yet and even though Mr. Todd knew that his landlady was perfectly capable of looking after herself, he was worried. When she went to the market like she had done earlier that day, she usually returned within an hour. But now she had been gone for almost an entire afternoon. The heavy rain that tormented Fleet Street and had been doing so for more than two hours after it had began to fall abruptly, unexpectedly ending a quiet, sunny afternoon, only increased his concern.

Knowing that no one would visit his tonsorial parlour now that it was raining so intensely, especially not someone like the Judge, he exited the barber shop, heading for the market to look for Mrs. Lovett. Perhaps, she needed his help after all.

He was hardly aware of the rain that soaked his clothing within mere seconds, just like he didn't notice that the quickly forming pools of water and mud on the street invaded his shoes mercilessly. Dark eyes scanned the alleys and streets, intently watching the very few people who were still outside, hoping to see a flash of too pale skin or auburn hair.

In retrospect, he couldn't remember how long it had taken him to find her; minutes passed too quickly as he didn't see her at the nearby market and he frantically searched the streets surrounding it, wondering where on earth she could be and why she hadn't returned.

It didn't take long before the barber was trembling with cold. The temperature wasn't very low, but the wind that tormented his wet skin and dripping clothes made it seem as if it was freezing. He wasn't willing to go back to the warm and relatively comfortable house in Fleet Street without the baker, but the thought that she probably had come back there while he was gone and was now worried about _him_, made him return.

Hurrying back to the meat pie shop, more eager to see her than he had ever been, he walked so quickly that he almost stumbled over the figure that had found shelter in a dark corner between two houses, the bag of supplies that belonged to this person lying in the muddy water.

Only when saw a flash of reddish curls cascading down the figure's back, he realized that this was not just _a_ human being trying to hide for the terrible weather, but the baker herself.

He stood still abruptly, squatting down next to the woman who was kneeling down in the corner . He could see then clearly that the soaked woman was Mrs. Lovett indeed.

He shuddered when he stepped into the quickly expanding pool of rain water that she was sitting in, not understanding why the baker was hiding for the rain there of all places. A second later however he noticed that there wasn't any rain falling down on the small area; the building that the baker was leaning against protected her mostly against the water falling from the sky, but the rain that was collecting on the pavement now had invaded the formerly dry piece of ground quite some time ago and cold gusts of wind blew the edges of her skirt and her hair wildly around her. Both were soaking; they had doubtlessly become so wet when she had rushed home but was caught up in the rain and had tried to find shelter there. By the time she realized that staying there was worse than making her way back home, it had certainly been to late.

"Mr. T," she muttered a few seconds after he had squatted next to her. To his horror, she had trouble saying his name because her voice was trembling. Her skin had an unhealthy shade of blue and her lips were more purple than the usual bright red. In fact, her entire body was shaking with cold and he realized instantly that he had to do something in order to get her to the warmth and comfort of her home. He couldn't really leave her there, or could he?

Suddenly strongly sensing that he was wasting time by doing nothing, he moved one arm beneath her knees and one around her shoulders, lifting her up easily in spite of the weight of her dress and the water that the fabric had absorbed.

They were back in their house within a few minutes and Sweeney was too focused on getting his landlady home as soon as he could to be shocked by the way that she was clinging to him and had buried her head in the crook of his neck.

Once he entered the parlour, where he had planned to leave her as soon as he had brought her home, he realized that of the fire that she had lit in the hearth that morning remained nothing but ashes. It was cold in the room, too cold for her. Even he was shivering uncontrollably and he wasn't the one who had been outside for far too long already.

Not knowing what else to do, he tightened his grip around her and carried her out of the parlour, into her bedroom. It was dark in the room and there was no hearth with a burning fire, but he hoped that the blankets on her bed would provide the warmth that she needed.

Knowing that he couldn't make things better as long as water was dripping from his own clothes and he would get only colder if he didn't dry himself and change his clothes soon, he placed the baker on her bed.

"I'm going to change into dry clothes," he said, looking at her intently but failing to see her face properly because of the darkness in the room. "You should do the same thing."

She seemed to nod weakly and left the bedroom, wanting both of them to be warm and comfortable as soon as possible. He headed for the small room that was used to wash his blood soaked shirts and he closed the door of the bedroom behind him, making sure to give her the privacy she needed.

He quickly grabbed the towels that he usually used to dry himself after he had washed all the blood off him after another long day of work in his barber shop and took off his clothing, eager to get rid of the wet fabric. As always, Mrs. Lovett had made sure that a pile of fresh, neatly folded clothes was waiting for him and he gratefully dressed once he had rapidly dried his skin.

Returning to her bedroom to make sure that she was alright, he knocked on the door, announcing his presence. There was no answer however, even when he knocked again, with more insistence.

Sensing that she wouldn't react even if he'd call her name, he pushed the door open and entered without her permission. She obviously wasn't aware of this however; the bit of daylight that reached the room through the opening door revealed that she wasn't even looking in his direction. She was lying on the bed exactly like he had placed her there a few minutes earlier. The baker hadn't moved at all and she probably hadn't even heard it when he had told her to change her clothes.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, right next to her, and reached for her, having some trouble doing so because of the darkness that had reclaimed the room when he had closed the door. After a few seconds, his fingers brushed against wet fabric and skin, and he felt that she was even colder than she had been when he had left her mere minutes ago.

"Mrs. Lovett," he hissed, the urgency in his voice obvious. "Eleanor!"

She mumbled something, but the words were too soft for him to hear. The gravity of the situation began to dawn on him and with a horribly clearness he realized that even though he had taken her home, this didn't ensure her well-being or even her survival.

For a moment, he sat motionlessly at her side, wondering what he could do to help her. As adrenaline surged through his body, followed by waves of heat, he knew that there was only one way to warm her body after it had been exposed to the elements for so long.

Without allowing himself to think for one more second, he rushed back to the laundry room where he had been before, grabbed a few towels that were still dry and, as he saw something that looked like a nightgown of the baker, took this with him as well.

Sweeney went back to her bedroom as quickly as he could, shutting the door behind him. This time, he was more than grateful for the darkness in the room. He didn't need to check to be sure that she hadn't moved this time and, remembering where she was lying on the bed, he stepped towards her quickly.

He rolled the still unmoving woman over on her stomach and began undoing the strings and laces of her dress and corset. Luckily, the clothing she was wearing didn't differ much from Lucy's, that he had undone night after night in the darkness. He had never thought this experience would be useful in any other situation and although those long lost circumstances couldn't even be compared to the current ones, he was very glad when his shaking fingers deftly slid the soaked fabric off his landlady's body.

He pulled her on her feet, supporting her weight when she was standing – the baker was too weak to stand on her own. This wasn't a surprise, since she hadn't even objected when he had begun undressing her.

The barber was glad that he couldn't see her, because this would make things less embarrassing than they already were. He didn't feel comfortable at all with the knowledge that he was taking off her clothes, even though it was necessary, and he was sure that Mrs. Lovett would feel the same way. But he didn't have a real choice if he wanted to help her and he was sure that the baker would agree with that once she was fully capable of doing so once more.

Making sure that she didn't collapse, he fully freed her from her dress and corset, causing them to pool around her feet. He helped her step out of the still wet fabric, kicking it into a random corner of the room so he wouldn't slip over it later. There were still some thin layers of fabric around her frame, ones that were wet as well, but he didn't even dare consider removing those as well. Technically, it would be the best thing to do, but there were limits to the inappropriate things his mind could force his body to perform.

It was awkward, helping his landlady like this as if she was nothing but a young child or some sort of too large doll, and he couldn't help but feel ashamed as he vaguely recalled all those times that she had helped him in a way that didn't differ much from what he was doing now, during those first weeks after he had returned to London.

Always supporting her weight with at least one arm, he took the towels and used them to dry her body as well as he could, trying not to be aware of the too cold but curvy form that his hands touched through the fabric of the towels.

When he was convinced that the towels had done all they could and he sensed that the baker was weakening even now that he was supporting her weight, he somehow managed to pull the nightgown over her head and move the limbs through the right holes in the fabric. The decent layer of fabric would hopefully warm her and prevent him from feeling how close he was actually going to be to her.

Not wanting to lose another moment, he removed the blankets from the bed, lifted her up once more and carefully placed her on the mattress and pillows. As he had done so, he laid down next to her and pulled the covers over the two of them.

Not allowing himself to think, he embraced her, moving as closely to her as he could, hoping that the heat of his body would be enough to warm hers. She hardly reacted however as he did so and even as he began rubbing her back with his hands, hoping that this would warm her more quickly, she didn't give any indication that she was aware of what he was doing.

All thoughts of inappropriateness disappeared from his mind as it dawned on him that the coldness of the rain and wind that she had had to endure had already been too much for her already weakened form.

He didn't know how long he had held her like that, forcing her body to get warm as he muttered words of encouragement to her. Sweeney was focused completely on the temperature of her body and wasn't aware of her arms that intuitively wrapped themselves around him and that she began gasping for air every time that his hands slid up and down her body.

Later, much later, when her heartbeat had gradually increased to a rhythm that seemed natural to him and her body wasn't as dangerously cold anymore as it had been, he knew that the worst was over. Only then he could somewhat relax, the fact that he was still holding the breathing body of his landlady being nothing but reassuring.

"Thank you," she whispered, breaking the silence at last, her voice sounding as if she had tried to speak before but could find the strength to do so only now. "Thank you so much."

Her breath was hot against his skin as they were holding each other tightly. It was only then that he realized how incredibly awful it would've been to have actually lost her.


	7. July

July

It was over. This was hard to believe for Mrs. Lovett, but the blood on Mr. Todd's clothing and the corpses in the bakehouse weren't lying. Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford were dead. She had begun to fear that they would never come to Sweeney's tonsorial parlour and she had the suspicion that the barber himself had lost hope as well. But on this day, that had began just like any other, the Judge had come at last and a few hours later the Beadle had arrived too, looking for Turpin.

Mrs. Lovett didn't know what exactly had happened, only that they were dead now and that there was only one person who could've done it. Sweeney however hadn't told her yet how he had managed to take his revenge after all and judging from the way he was sitting in his barber chair, staring ahead of him with unseeing eyes, he wasn't going to tell her soon.

Anthony had come to speak to him, only minutes ago, to tell him that he had been able to use the key that Johanna had given him months ago to enter the Judge's house now that the owner had mysteriously disappeared and his staff was either looking for him or had gone home. He had freed Johanna and they had been in Fleet Street briefly, only to tell the barber and the barber that they were going far, far away. Where to, they didn't know yet, but Mrs. Lovett had been sure that they would end up somewhere beautiful and peaceful.

Even though she was glad for them, she couldn't help but feel envy. They could go anywhere they wanted and had a bright future ahead of them. But she... even now that the men who had caused the barber so much pain were gone, his situation hadn't improved. Instead, it only seemed to have gotten worse. His company had been so pleasant these days, but now he was just sitting there, staring and brooding, exactly like he had done during those first weeks in London. He even had hardly reacted when he had seen his daughter for the first time in more than fifteen years.

Mrs. Lovett was a very practical woman, even now, and she knew that they had to do something and that they had to do so _now_. She hadn't seen any policemen yet but if the Beadle had been smart enough to figure out where the Judge had gone to, so would be all the people that were looking for Turpin now.

"Come on," she said, squatting down next to the chair that the barber was currently sitting in, unaware of all the blood on it. It was not that it made any difference; his shirt could hardly get any redder than it already was. "We have to leave, before they'll find you like this."

He didn't react but she hadn't really expected anything else. She had learned in the past that it was basically impossible to actually reach him when he was in such a mood. She didn't blame him, however, because she understood his behaviour now. She didn't really want to know what was going on in his head, for it was doubtlessly very unpleasant.

But she didn't intend to have his story end like that – she didn't want _their_ story to end. There was hope for them and she wasn't going to throw that away. If Sweeney wasn't going to come up with a plan, she would. She only hoped that he would agree with afterwards.

Many things had been going through her head when she had been working in the bakehouse and the Judge's corpse suddenly dropped on the floor only a few meters away from where she had been chopping up bodies. Too many emotions and thoughts had been running through her mind, but now she was strangely calm and knew exactly what to do.

She went downstairs, locking the barber shop behind her even though Mr. Todd was still there. He probably didn't notice this anyway and she had to prevent others from going in there. Forcing herself to walk calmly, as if there was nothing going on, she headed for the parlour where she took the largest bag that she owned and began packing.

She had often imagined doing this, even though she had never thought that it would actually happen. But now that there was a reason to pack so abruptly because she and Mr. Todd _were_ going to flee together, she didn't have to waste time making decisions. As if it was another fantasy or dream, she packed clothing and food in the exact right amounts and filled the hidden parts of the bag with the ridiculous amount of money that she had saved the past few months.

Taking the heavy bag with her, she returned to Mr. Todd's room. It was no surprise that he was still sitting there exactly like she had left him. It would be best if he would change his clothes so he didn't have to go outside wearing blood soaked fabric around his thin frame, but she knew well enough that he wouldn't do so of his own accord and if she would do it for him, it would take too long. Besides, she was rather sure that she wouldn't be able to change the clothing of the taller and heavier person without getting distracted by his beautiful form in the first place.

Unable to think of a better solution, she took one of his coats that she hadn't packed and, pulling the barber on his feet, wrapped it around him. She buttoned it quickly so not a glimpse of the underlying, bloody shirt could be seen and guided the barber outside, down the stairs.

"Wait for me here," she said quietly as they stood in front of the house. She placed the bag next to him – she didn't expect him to hold it for her, even if she would ask. Mrs. Lovett knew that she didn't really have to say it; it was not that the barber would go anywhere without her guidance anywhere, as he was still lost in thought. But still, they had to keep up appearances and she always enjoyed talking to the barber, just because she _could_ after having feared the worst for so long, and she always round it reassuring, even now.

She headed for the bakehouse, glad that she had gotten rid of most of the remaining bodies this morning. Only the Judge's and the Beadle's corpse were still lying on the floor of the basement, but with a little luck those would be beyond recognition too soon.

The baker threw all the blocks of wood, that were meant to keep the fire in the oven burning, around the two dead bodies. There was still a small fire in the oven and with the stove poker she took a burning piece of wood from it and dropped it on top of the blocks that surrounded the corpses.

Slowly but surely the flames spread, eagerly beginning to consume the new wood. Mrs. Lovett watched for a moment, her feet refusing to move as some sort of morbid curiosity took over. It seemed strange after all that she had destroyed so many human bodies but wouldn't see the final end of the corpses of the men because of whom she had chopped up all those others.

But then she moved, remembering once more what had happened and what more needed to be done. Only burning her bakehouse wouldn't do and it was not that the rest of the building would be useful for her in the future anyway.

Suddenly unable to stand the smell of burning human flesh that began to fill the air any longer, she rushed upstairs, grabbing all the bottles of spare oil that were meant to keep the lamps in her house burning from a cupboard as she did so.

When the baker arrived in the parlour, she quickly collected all the oil she had, grateful that she had bought a few bottles earlier that week, as if she had subconsciously known how much she would need it. The flames that began roaring only a few meters beneath her feet made it impossible for her to be fully aware of what she was doing, let alone realize the emotional consequences of what she was going to do.

Taking in a deep breath, needing the extra oxygen even though the air was becoming very unpleasant to inhale, she opened the bottles of oil and sprinkled the contents all over her floor and furniture, the overwhelming smell of it assaulting her nostrils as well.

Making sure that her shoes and clothing didn't touch the liquid, she took the oil lamp that had been burning in her parlour all this time from its usual place. Her mind was enjoyably blank when she lifted the fragile lamp high above her head and smashed it down on the floor. Immediately, the small flame began consuming the pool of oil, setting the floor and rugs on fire at the same time.

It would be best if she would do the same thing in Mr. Todd's room, but there was no time for that, both because they had to run now before the flames were detected and because she couldn't risk being there now that two floors of the house that been her her home for the greater part of her life were burning already and would doubtlessly collapse soon.

Cheeks flushed and hair even wilder than usual because of the intensity of the past few minutes, she rushed back outside, not looking back at floor and curtains that were burning now.

Just like she had expected, Mr. Todd was standing where she had left him a few minutes ago. He probably hadn't even noticed that she was gone, let alone be aware that the last bits that reminded him of his wife were beginning to burn right behind him.

She took the bag again and linked her arm in the barber's, thus being able to pull him with her without looking too suspicious. She guided him through various small and dark alleys, away from their shops and home.

Mrs. Lovett had considered stealing a carriage, but it would capture too much attention. They were basically invisible as long as no one knew that Sweeney was the one who had murdered Turpin and Bamford. Now that she had burned the house and thus the evidence of their murders, it was unlikely that the bodies would be found and recognized soon, let alone that anyone would find out that they were brutally killed by Sweeney Todd.

When she was sure that they had gone far away enough in order not to be seen by any acquaintances, she pulled Sweeney and the bag with their necessary belongings into an available carriage.

"Where to?" the driver asked, raising an eyebrow as he saw the strange man and woman sitting in his carriage.

"Anywhere," Mrs. Lovett said absent-mindedly as she looked at the still quiet barber, the sound of the burning flames echoing in her mind. "Anywhere but here."

* * *

_Happy New Year =D _


	8. August

August

Mrs. Lovett sighed deeply as she stared at the horizon with unseeing eyes, her bare feet buried in the cold sand. It seemed as if things _never_ went like she wanted them to and that her fantasies would never be more than daydreams. And perhaps, everything _had_ been too good to be true.

They had escaped from London easily and even when she and Sweeney had hidden in a nearby town to wait until they felt it was safe for them to show themselves in public, they hadn't seen anyone who was looking for them. Mr. Todd had been acting coldly and distantly all this time, but the baker had been sure that his mood would improve once they would actually be living by the sea.

When they had been living in small rooms, far away from the actual pleasant parts of the town which name she couldn't even remember, they had met a man who claimed to be the owner of a cottage in the dunes that were a few miles away from the town that he was willing to sell. He said that it was far removed from other houses and immediately, Mrs. Lovett had known that that was perfect for her and Mr. Todd.

Even Sweeney had agreed with it, and so they had accepted the man's offer and had paid a rather large sum of pounds to become the new owners of the cottage.

With the help of the map that the man had drawn for them, they had just arrived by the cottage, after a journey by foot that had lasted almost two hours. It was frustratingly clear to both of them now that the man had deceived them. The map had lead them to the right place, yes, but the 'cottage' hadn't been worth that name for quite some years – if it had been an actual house once in the first place. The thing, made out of wood instead of stone, was old and basically falling apart; it was hard to tell how large it once had been, only that there was hardly anything left of it now.

Even if they would go back to the town, they obviously would never find that man again. She wondered how many others he had fooled like he had deceived them and how she could've been so _stupid_ to trust him. In London this wouldn't have happened to her... but in London she _knew_ that no one could be trusted (she had hoped that it would be different outside the large city, but apparently not) and in London she hadn't thought that she'd ever _really_ have the chance to buy a cottage by the sea. Mrs. Lovett knew that she was beginning to become rather desperate and she hated this.

The barber wasn't too pleased with the failure as well and acted now as if it was all her own fault, even though he had agreed with the decision to buy the 'cottage'. Not willing to endure his silent and chagrin company any longer, she had went into the dunes without him, wanting to be as far away from the rotting hut as she could without being reminded of it by him all the time.

She had thought that she could at least enjoy the seaside now that they were there anyway, but the sounds of the sea and the seagulls couldn't cheer her up and even the weather seemed to be doing its best to ruin the day; it was unusually cold and grim for a summer day.

The baker threw frustrated handfuls of sand at her feet, wondering if things were ever going to be the way she dreamed them to be. Even though her life should be perfect now, she actually began missing her life in London. Mr. Todd had acted much more pleasantly towards her then and at least she had owned a proper, comfortable house.

Feeling too restless to remain sitting there, she stood up abruptly, forcing her body that had gone numb with cold to walk back. There was no point in sitting there any longer anyway.

As she walked back to the ruin of the cottage, there seemed to be some sort of reddish glow above the dunes that she was heading for. Dread welling within her, she rushed forwards, her eyes widening when she became aware of a particular, too familiar smell that mixed with the salty air.

A minute later, she arrived at the source of the light. It was almost at the exact place where the hut was – or rather, had been. Unable to believe what she was witnessing, she just stood there for a long moment, horrified, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing. But even though the flames and the smoke made it very obvious, her mind simply refused to accept the reality for quite some time.

"Mr. T," she shrieked at length, just when the barber threw another piece of wood on the fire without being aware of her presence. "You are burning our new house!"

"It's not a _house_," he shouted, having to do so to make it possible for her to hear him now that the soaring noise that the fire produced was becoming louder with each plank of the former hut that he threw on it. If he was surprised to see her so suddenly, yelling at him, he didn't show it – as if it was only normal that he was burning the house that he had just brought.

"Then what do you call this?" she yelled, gesturing wildly at the part of the hut that he hadn't taken apart yet to burn.

"This is a bloody shack, and nothing more than that," he yelled back, his voice raising now of its own accord. "We can't live like that. There was only one bedroom and it wouldn't have survived the next storm anyway."

"But still, it was a _house_," she shrieked, "and it was the only one we had. We have nowhere else to go!"

Technically, that wasn't entirely true; they could afford to buy another – a _real_ – house or remain renting rooms for many weeks to come, but she didn't want that anymore. She wanted to have a place of her own that she could call her home and share with the barber. She wanted a house by the sea, like she had always dreamed of – a house just like what the one that the barber was burning now might had been like during its better days.

Mr. Todd was unaffected by her outburst and just continued removing planks from the wooden ruin with shocking ease before throwing them on the fire.

Mrs. Lovett knew that she couldn't really stop him even if it hadn't been too late yet. But she couldn't stand the sight of it, seeing how the house that was supposed to be her new home was destroyed by flames just like her first one.

Unable to watch the fire any longer or even hear the noise that it produced, she ran away from the barber and the burning remains of the hut. Unlike what she had thought minutes ago, solitude and coldness _were _better than being near the barber.

She was scared, really scared, for the first time since Mr. Todd and she had escaped from London. Only now it began to dawn on her what she had done so recently; she had burned her home in London as if the building had been nothing but an item of low importance that could be discarded when it wasn't needed for a moment.

She began to see now however that it had been the house where she had lived for the majority of her life, where she had known both horrible and wonderful things - and now it was gone, just like the one that was supposed to replace it.

And, remembering the way he had yelled at her and had been burning parts of the house with terrifying determination, she began to wonder if the man she loved had gone mad after all.

"Eleanor?"

She almost jumped when she heard his voice close to her ear; she hadn't even noticed that he had approached her.

"Come with me."

She heard him say those words but her body refused to listen to him. Obeying would lead to only more disappointment, just like it had always done.

But when he took her hand in his own and pulled her on her feet, she didn't have a choice.

"You can't keep sitting there like that, it's too cold."

In any other situation she would've remind him of all the times that she had said similar things to him and that he hadn't listened to her once, but now that exhaustion and regret had overpowered her at last, she simply allowed him to guide her back to the place where the hut had been until very recently.

Sweeney made her sit down close to the fire, so the flames could warm her cold body. He sat down next to her, scrutinizing her as she stared at the fire.

"That hut was completely useless," he said, his voice much calmer now than when he had talked about the former house earlier. "Making a fire is the only thing that those planks could be used for. We can't live in that so called house but that doesn't mean that we can't live _here_."

Her head snapped up so she could face him, thoroughly surprised by his words. For a moment, she feared that she was dreaming. The way the flames illuminated his beautiful face certainly seemed rather surreal, but not as much as the words that he seemed to be saying were.

"It seems that we can't find anything better than this. We clearly didn't really buy anything from that man we paid, but I don't think that anyone will mind if we are going to live here. Since there isn't a proper house here, I will build it myself. You gave up your house to protect me and I will take this chance to repay you."

If it hadn't been for the growing intensity of the heat of the fire, Mrs. Lovett would've been entirely sure that she was dreaming. Her mind was strangely blank and for a moment, she could only think how silly that man was, thinking that he had to 'repay' her for what she had done. Shouldn't it be clear to him now at last that it wasn't about money at all?

"I can make a new home for us," he said, not taking his eyes off her as if he was trying to gauge her reaction that way. "If you want me to, I'll do it."

It took the baker a long moment to recover from the shock that his words caused and to persuade herself that this was indeed real and not another dream or fantasy.

He briefly placed his hand on her shoulder, as if wanting to make it clear to her that he was indeed willing to build a home that they could share. Mrs. Lovett herself however was for once hardly aware of his presence. She could only think of what he had just offered to do, about what this would mean for her – for _them_.


	9. September

September

As he made his way back to the house in the dunes, carrying one of the plates of glass that he just had bought with him, Sweeney Todd felt almost contended. It seemed that Mrs. Lovett had been right all this time; the fresh air and their quiet new way of living _were_ doing him good. He had also found out that building a house was the most calming and satisfying thing he had ever done.

It had been a good thing for him to find out that the skill he had acquired when he had been forced to work in the colony was useful now, and that the hard work left his being exhausted at the end of each day, too tired to pace or even brood.

It hadn't been as hard as he had thought to leave the past behind. Mrs. Lovett had told him again and again that life was for the alive and now that he was slowly beginning to live again, he sensed more and more that she was right.

Even the weather was working in their favour. After months of rain and coldness, the sun was finally shining and had been doing so for quite some days already. This made possible for him to build the house and it helped clearing the fog in his mind that was still lingering there.

He hoped that he would once be able to let go off the past completely. He didn't dare take a razor in his hand now and begin working as a barber once more before he had totally forgotten about the euphoria that had followed after every murder that he had committed in the recent past.

Never again he wanted to kill a man – he had had his vengeance and he didn't want to ruin the life that Nellie and he were creating for themselves. The woman's condition visibly improved because of the gentle sun and salty breeze. She wasn't as thin and pale as she had been in London and sometimes she even smiled without an apparent reason.

It was not the cheerful, easy smile that he remembered, but one of a more thoughtful and considering nature that he found rather appealing. She was talking to him more and more often as well, and it wasn't the useless chatter that he had grown to hate, but calm and meaningful remarks or questions.

Sharing a house that wasn't even finished yet too turned out to be much easier and less unpleasant than he had thought. In retrospect, he was quite grateful that the baker had – quite literally – dragged him to the seaside.

He was becoming rather fond of the woman and usually noticed immediately when she wasn't around, mostly because she almost always _was – _to his approval. She hadn't felt the urge to slave in another bakery for many years to come and since they still had plenty of money, even after buying the 'cottage' and rebuilding it, she had remained at the home in progress, helping him as much as she could or wandering around on the beach or in the dunes.

He hadn't expect that he would ever share a home with the woman. A house was all that they had shared until recently, their relationship being nothing but an average one between a tenant and a landlady and although he had become a murderer and she had become his accomplice, there had never been more than that. He wondered what they were now. Friends, probably, no matter how strange it seemed.

Wiping the sweat off his brow and forcing himself to think of the work that had to be done instead of the auburn haired woman, he lifted the glass that he had bought earlier and intended to move it to the planks that were going to be part of the front door.

Strangely enough, there were only three planks – he was sure that there had been four when he had left in the morning to buy the glass in the nearby village. Four, exactly the amount that he needed.

Sighing, he wondered how this was possible. It seemed rather unlikely that the warmth was the cause of this inconvenience. After having lived in the colony for almost fifteen years, a bit of English sunshine was the last thing that could bother him.

Figuring that Mrs. Lovett might know where the fourth plank was, or whether it had ever been there to begin with, he left the partly finished house and headed for the beach, knowing with quite some certainty that she would be there.

It was only a short walk and half a minute later he arrived at the beach, kicking off his shoes so he could feel the warm sand beneath his feet. Almost simultaneously, he saw Mrs. Lovett.

She was in the sea, splashing around in the water, and somehow it seemed that she was floating in the water without moving her arms or legs. He walked into the water himself, wondering what the woman was doing.

Just before she became aware of him, she stood up in the water and he could see that she had been floating on some sort of piece of wood.

A big wave was approaching behind her and as he was watching her, she pushed the wood in front of her and quickly moved onto it, until her body was almost fully lying on top of it. Because she had done so right before the wave hit her, the powerful water made the wood and thus the woman on it surge forward, causing her to move along with the wave at an alarming speed.

While this was happening, she looked in his direction and, eyes widening almost comically when she saw him at last, she lost control over the plank, causing her to fall into the sea.

Not sure whether he should be shocked or amused, Sweeney walked further into the water, towards her.

But only a few seconds later, Mrs. Lovett emerged from the water, grinning as if something funny had just happened.

He stood still for a moment when he saw her properly. It was not the new bathing suit which she was wearing that surprised him – although she had chattered about it so often in the old days he had never thought that she would once actually buy one – but the fact that she was clearly genuinely enjoying whatever it was exactly that she was doing.

"Mr. Todd!" she said breathlessly, making her way towards him. He could take a better look at her that way and to his horror, he found himself thinking that the bathing suit didn't seem as silly as it had done in the old days now that the wet fabric was clinging to her curves.

"I didn't know you were back yet," she said, her cheeks reddening slightly. "If I would've known, I wouldn't have been..."

She chattered like the baker he remembered, not the grieving woman she had become, and even though she was rambling like he once had detested, he found that he didn't mind it now.

"How long have you been standing there?"she asked, the blush still visible on her face.

"Not long," he lied, forcing his mind to stop its musings, at least as long as the object of this thoughts was standing right before him, watching him intently in a soaking and pathetic excuse of clothing.

"Do you mind if I do this one more time before coming back to help you with the house? I know this seems very childish but it's quite... exciting."

Sweeney raised a sceptical eyebrow, but she just rolled her eyes and pulled the wood that she had used to float on out of the water. Only then he recognized the shape of it and realized why he hadn't been able to find the fourth plank of wood only minutes ago.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said, wondering if the woman had lost her mind after all, "that is supposed to be part of our front door."

She looked from him to the wood and back, obviously not sure whether she should take him seriously or not, until she studied the object with more attention.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her cheeks reddening even more as it was clear to her that he wasn't trying to fool her. "I didn't know that. You were gone and I was looking for something that could help me float in the sea when I found out that I wasn't very good at swimming. This was just lying there and I thought that you didn't need it because it isn't very big."

Taking pity on her and deciding to spare her the technical reasons because of which he had sawn the wood in four pieces, one of them being the one she was currently holding, he gestured her to calm down.

"It doesn't matter," he said, "I'll make a new one."

It would take him a few more hours to do so, but the salt in the water had made the current one useless. The look of relief on Mrs. Lovett's face however was worth it.

"Would you like to try it once?"

His initial reaction was to reply with a firm 'no', but when she looked at him expectantly, he nodded. Trying one time wouldn't hurt and it seemed that it meant a lot to her if he would do it.

Smiling once more, she walked back into the sea, until the water reached to her waist. Sensing that that was what she expected him to do, he followed her.

"You have to wait until the wave is right behind you," she said, moving the wood in front of her once more. As she said this, another wave approached and just before it would smash against her, she moved on top of the wood and let the water drag her with it. Not distracted this time, she almost reached the beach before the wave was too weak to move her any longer and she remained floating on the wood before she stood up and walked back to him.

Mr. Todd couldn't help but be impressed; within seconds, the wave had made her cross the distance to the beach which was dozens of yards away. Now genuinely interested in trying this himself, he took the wood when Mrs. Lovett pushed it to him. When he had sawn the plank into the right shape, he had never thought that it would serve any other purpose than being one fourth of the front door of the cottage, but seeing how much she enjoyed this, he was rather glad that the wood was used in such a strange way.

Wanting to move exactly as he had seen Mrs. Lovett do a moment ago, he waited until a large wave was moving towards him. He moved forward as well, intending to move onto the wood before the wave hit him. He succeeded in doing so, but he had moved too early and instead of taking him with it, the wave rushed over him without mercy, soaking his hair and the working clothes he was still wearing.

Eager to try again, he simply stood up, somewhat relieved that the sea wasn't very deep where they were standing.

The second time however, he moved too late and the wave had passed already before he was on the wood, leaving him floating aimlessly on the surface of the sea that was calm once more.

Determined now to do just like Mrs. Lovett, he made another attempt. This time, he moved at the right moment. He hardly had the chance to appreciate this however; the wave dragged him away with a mesmerizing speed that was even more overwhelming now that he was actually in the water himself.

The wave was much more powerful than he had anticipated, but he managed to control the plank nonetheless. As he did so, water splashed in his face as it pushed him towards the rapidly approaching beach, and a jolt of excitement spread through his body. He understood now why she was so enthusiastic about this.

He didn't reach the beach, perhaps because he was heavier than Mrs. Lovett and didn't float as easily, but he was pleased nonetheless, especially when he saw that she was almost jumping with delight. Very eager now to try this again, not because he wanted to prove the woman something but because he actually wanted to experience it once more.

He made his way back into the sea, easily defying the waves rolling in the opposite direction. The sudden smile that appeared on his face when she was beaming at him was something that didn't bother him.

Another wave was there, larger and moving quicker than any he had seen before. Focused on it completely, he wasn't aware of the baker's shout of warning.

Just before the wave washed over him, he pushed the wood forward and moved on it, like he had done before. The first second was miraculous – he went fast, so incredibly fast. The speed that the baker had achieved – and the speed of basically all other things he had done in his life – was nothing compared to this.

Adrenaline rushed through his body and he felt more powerful than he had ever done, even with one of his beloved razors in his hand right before another kill.

But then the wave turned out too big and strong. The water tried to drag the wood into different directions and he couldn't force the plank any longer to keep moving in just one direction.

The board was suddenly pulled powerfully to the left and it was impossible for Sweeney to remain in control. He was thrown off the wood, into the water, a very short moment before the wave rushed over him.

The sea wasn't deep at that point, but even as the wave had passed, the water sucked him down, towards the bottom, and for a moment he found himself incapable of swimming back to the surface.

But before he could fully realize this, before he could even panic, there were two small and surprisingly strong hands that pulled him out of the water and helped him get to the beach.

The barber and the baker collapsed in the sand, both breathing heavily after the unexpected accident, and Mrs. Lovett's hands moved frantically over his arms and chest to make sure that he wasn't hurt. While doing so, she muttered words of apology and comfort.

Sweeney felt better quickly now that he was out of the water and could breath freely again. He was a little shocked by the unexpected splash, that was all; in the past fifteen years, he had been in much, much worse situations. He had survived and back then, there hadn't been the baker's gentle hands and voice, which were strangely soothing.

In spite of what just had happened, he wanted to go back into the water and try again, if only to prove to himself – and to her - that the one successful attempt he had made wasn't a lucky accident.

But for the time being, he remained where he was, and didn't try to break out of the baker's embrace. He felt perfectly at ease lying in the warm sand and feeling the baker's hands caress his face tenderly. And besides, the world was a more pleasant place when it was seen from Eleanor's lap.


	10. October

October

Mrs. Lovett hadn't expected it, but she liked the beach and the sea even more in autumn than she had at the end of the summer. Especially now that the storm that had tormented the British coast for several days was somewhat decreasing in intensity, it was wonderful to walk on the beach.

There were few things she liked more than the feeling of the drops of salty water that splashed against her face and the wind that tugged at her hair and clothing. She felt totally free, as if the wind made all her worries and fears to away, and it seemed to her that she was somehow compensated for all the fresh air and space around her that she had to miss during all those years that she lived in London.

The best thing however was that Mr. Todd seemed to enjoy their strolls on the beach as much as she did. He usually joined her when she went out of their new and now finished house – which had proudly survived its first storm - to go for a walk.

Just like usual, the barber was walking next to her; he was lost in thought, just like she was, but he certainly was _there, _at her side.

They left the beach, heading for the large rocks that separated land from water. Climbing on them, they had a magnificent view over the wild waves as they were standing dozens of yards above the surface of the sea. The force with which the waves were splashed against the rocks was such, that the baker could still feel the foam and the droplets against her flushed skin.

Exhilaration ran through her veins like the wind was going through her hair. She closed her eyes, throwing her head back, feeling so small and yet so powerful. She spread her arms and it took hardly any effort to imagine that she was actually able to fly just like the loudly squawking the seagulls around her.

It made her forget of Mr. Todd's presence for a moment, until she felt two strong arms that wrapped themselves around her waist. The baker tensed, shocked by the unexpected physical contact, especially because there could be only one person who was standing behind her to hold her like this.

"I don't want you to fall," he said, his mouth close to her ear to make her hear his voice over the howling wind. He pulled her firmly against his chest as he spoke, as if making his words more clear.

Mrs. Lovett's natural reaction was to tell him that she was perfectly capable of standing on her own, even though she had some trouble to keep her balance, but luckily she could stop herself from saying so. If he thought that she needed his help and was actually _willing_ to support her, why should she correct him?

Even though her mind was screaming, her body relaxed as she made herself comfortable in his arms. Never in her life she had felt as safe and secure as in that very moment, standing on top of the slippery and big rocks that were tormented by the forces of nature while the man who she loved was holding her.

Her back was against his chest and because of this, she couldn't see his face. No matter how spectacular the display in front of her was, she longed to see him instead of the wild waves and dark sky.

She turned around, moving slowly and carefully, hoping that he wouldn't let go off her – and indeed, he didn't, not even when their foreheads were almost touching now that she was facing him.

Gusts of wind had released some strands of her curly hair from their pins and they were blown into Mr. Todd's face, but he didn't brush them away and told her to move away from him. Instead, he stared at her, as if she was even more fascinating than the scenery surrounding them.

And at that moment, she knew that she couldn't do it. During the weeks that she had shared a small house with him and spent all her time with him, she had prevented herself from acting on the impulses of showing him her affection for him, even though the desire to do so had become almost impossible to ignore. She had been strong, refusing to destroy their now solid friendship, but now she couldn't stand it anymore.

She had to move her head only a few inches to close the distance between them. And then, with seemingly little effort, her lips brushed against his.

The turmoil around them was nothing compared to the storm that was raging within her when she tenderly kissed Mr. Todd at last.

For a moment, Mrs. Lovett felt as if she was actually flying, and that she was actually where she had wanted and needed to be for as long as she could remember. And even though his skin was cold because of the merciless wind and his lips, chapped by the rough weather, tasted like the salty sky, the kiss was perfect to her.

He didn't pull away, but he didn't seem to react in any way whatsoever. However, in spite of the situation she knew that there were limits of what she could do. She moved back herself after a few long seconds, the certainty that she had felt earlier leaving her as soon as she stepped away from him.

Unable to look him in the eyes, she walked away, the knowledge that this moment had doubtlessly ruined everything between them for many years to come, if not forever, dawning on her without mercy.

Thus, she was incredibly surprised and more than relieved when the barber was next to her again almost immediately. But he didn't look at her, even though her heart and soul wished he would.

However, when he wordlessly reached for her hand and took it in his own, it was clear to her that the storm she had been dealing with for the greater part of her life had gone at last and that a new time, one of warmth and calmness, was awaiting her.


	11. November

_I'm very sorry that it took me so long to post this chapter. This was a difficult one to write and I still don't really like it, but I don't think that another rewrite is going to improve it. So here it is, I hope it was worth the wait. Please note that I changed the rating; for the obvious reason, this chapter is **m-rated**._

_

* * *

_

November

Although she was sitting on the floor, Nellie couldn't remember any moment during which she had felt more comfortable. She was leaning back against the couch and the rug that she was sitting on was thick and soft, and a fire was blazing in the hearth only a few meters away from her. The thing that was most pleasant however was that Mr. Todd was lying next to her, his head resting in her lap as he stared at the dancing flames just like she did.

Neither of them had ever spoken of the moment they had shared on the beach a few weeks ago, when she had kissed his lips. She had been waiting for him to say something about it, anything, so she would at least know whether he was angry, shocked or disappointed, or a combination of those emotions that she didn't want to evoke. Or that he, perhaps, didn't mind her rash action as much as she thought he would. But he hadn't done such a thing.

Instead, he had been seeking her company more and more often, and spoke more to her than he used to do. A few minutes ago, when she had settled on the floor so she could be closer to the fire that chased away the winter cold, he had followed her example and, to her delight, had moved closer and closer to her. He hadn't stopped until his head was resting against her thigh and she, encouraged by this, had guided it into her lap.

She had hoped that this would cause him to act; either he would move away from her, indicating that he didn't want to be so close to her and didn't want to progress their relationship more than they already had - or he would take a next step, showing her that he wanted more, just like she did.

However, he had done neither of those things; he just remained lying like he already was. Only as she stared at the burning wood in the hearth, wondering what the silent man was thinking, she realized that he was simply just as confused and uncertain as she was.

Even though Sweeney was so close to her and wasn't watching her, she didn't dare look at him. The baker was afraid that the strange but pleasant moment would end the second that the now seemingly oblivious Mr. Todd caught her scrutinizing him. She even didn't allow herself to wonder why he wanted to be so close to her like this in the first place. But this didn't prevent her from enjoying the feeling of his head in her lap, as he was lying there like that as if it was a natural thing.

The warmth of the fire, the late hour and the closeness of the man she loved made her feel sleepy. It would be so pleasant just to fall asleep like this, only to wake to find the barber still there, perhaps with his arms around her to prevent her from moving away while he slept, as if she would even consider such a thing.

But whatever it was that made him do this, she somehow doubted that it was what she wanted it to be. But still, she could _hope_, like she had done for so many years. And even though she wanted to enjoy the situation the way it was, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to touch that beautiful face of his, to feel the cool and still smooth skin beneath her fingertips, to run her hands through his hear…

At first, she thought it was only her imagination, but when he lifted her hand, it was clear that it was more than a fantasy. He had taken her hand in his own and moved it upwards now, until it brushed against his cheek. She would've lowered her suddenly numb hand, which temporarily failed her in the moment of pleasant shock, if he hadn't still been holding it.

Unable to resist the temptation now, she looked down at last. The image of her fingers resting against the barber's face didn't make it easier for her to breathe now that inhaling suddenly seemed a difficult thing to do. His eyes met hers and although there was still that incomprehensible look in them that had been there since the day they had become endured the storm together and, in a way, had become part of it, there was something else, something that made it impossible for both of them to look away.

In spite of the knowledge of the things he had done, she couldn't help but think that he was beautiful. Perhaps he _had_ changed after all now that they were living by the sea and there were nothing but storms and noisy seagulls to torment them. Whether the demon was still inside of him or not, he seemed fully at ease now that he was lying on the floor of the house that he had built for both of them, even though he was closer to her than he had ever voluntarily been. Or would he be so calm _because_ of it?

"Eleanor," he whispered, and although he had recently often used her given name to address her, his voice had never been so soft and longing when he said it. In fact, she couldn't remember any time that he had spoken with such affection, let alone to her.

She wasn't sure what to do; she knew what she _wanted_ to do, but she was afraid for the consequences that it would have. She didn't want to lose the barber, even if he wouldn't be more to her than a friend. She had repeated this to herself for a long time, and except for that one time on the beach, she had been able to prevent herself from doing something foolish. But now, just like during that unexpected moment weeks ago, she was losing the battle against her own desires.

However, as he covered her still unmoving hand with his own and slowly guided it over his skin, inviting her to do the same without his help, Mrs. Lovett knew that giving in to her wish to touch him wouldn't end so badly this time.

Her movements were careful and slow, savoring the feeling of his surprisingly warm skin beneath her fingertips, an experience so real that it was impossible to be a dream, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

Even when he let go off her hand, she continued her exploration of his face, holding her breath as her fingers caressed his cheekbone and familiarized themselves with the shape of his brow.

The barber's eyes were closed now and the appreciative sounds coming from his lips encouraged her to stroke his hair like she earlier had longed to do. He shifted as he did so and she was afraid that she had gone too far after all, but he only changed the angle of his head somewhat, so it was closer to her body than it had been before.

Her left hand reached for him now too, cradling his head as the fingers of her right hand found their way to his slightly parted lips. She caressed them, involuntarily holding her breath as she did so.

Mr. Todd sat up abruptly, causing her hand to fall limply at her side. Her exhilaration was once more erased by disappointment and by the strange feeling that this was too good to be true anyway.

But to her surprise and relief, he sat down on his knees before her, his dark eyes scrutinizing her as he lifted his hand. She watched it move towards her breathlessly, until his fingers brushed against her lips, mimicking her gesture.

Her eyes fluttered closed as he touched her like this, the gentle pressure of his fingertips against her lips deliciously _real_. He was tracing the curve of her mouth with his fingers and, as if sensing that it was difficult for her body not just to collapse when he was doing something so heavenly, he moved closer to her to support her body with his own as he continued the tender gesture.

Her mind was still having trouble believing that this was actually happening at last. But she couldn't open her eyes to make sure that she wasn't dreaming after all – she felt that she couldn't do anything as long as Sweeney was touching her.

And thus she only found out that Mr. Todd was going to kiss her when his lips already brushed against her own.

They sat very still for a moment, only their lips touching, but then he moved closer to her, wrapping one arm around her waist and caressing her hair with the other.

There was nothing reluctant and uncertain about him anymore when his lips pressed against hers more firmly, or when his mouth opened slightly and the top of his tongue darted out to meet hers.

Nellie knew very well that she should be careful and take things slowly; the barber was finally doing now what she had hoped of for a long, long time, but he was still Mr. Todd and he was someone who didn't appreciate rash things, certainly not in a situation like this one.

But as Sweeney deepened the kiss, it was impossible not to give in. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, desire welling inside of her as the barber groaned her name.

The sensations that he caused wrecked her body and made it impossible for the baker to think of trivial things such as balance. Her knees buckled and she collapsed against Mr. Todd, whose position wasn't as stable as she assumed it was. He too fell, dragging her with him, and they ended up on the soft rug in a tangle of limbs and hair.

They were hardly aware of it; if there was one thought that ran through her mind, it was that being sprawled on top of Mr. Todd was even more pleasant than she had imagined during all those lonely days.

His lips met hers once more and she kissed back with equal vigor. The urgency she felt in his kiss surprised her, for it equaled her own, and she gladly surrendered to it.

They only broke the kiss when they were dizzy with desire and the lack of air in their lungs. There was a fire in Sweeney's eyes that she had never seen before and her heart beat even faster because she knew that she had caused it.

Mr. Todd didn't speak, but it was obvious what he wanted to ask her. She sensed that he wouldn't explicitly do so however, as if he didn't have the courage to do so. And thus, she simply nodded, making it clear to him that she wanted the same thing as he did. She smiled when his eyes widened as he realized that she had given him permission.

A moment later, Sweeney had flipped her over and she found herself lying on her back. He began tugging at her clothes, tearing them out of the way as he was almost violently made his way to her bare skin. He clearly didn't have the patience to untie her dress and corset, and settled for pushing her skirts up and dragging her bloomers down.

It was impossible for her to think or be fully aware of what was happening, especially when his hands caressed her thighs for the very first time. She could only moan as desire consumed her, hoping that this would make clear to him that he'd better hurry finishing what they had started.

He moved back from her however, making her want to scream if only he hadn't left her entire being so weak and boneless. She could see him from the corners of her eyes, but even turning her head to watch him as he unbuckled his belt was too much.

But it didn't matter, for he was atop of her once more only a moment later, crashing his mouth against her own as his hands slid down her body, parting her legs. He positioned himself, looking up once more. Seeing not a single sign of hesitation or rejection in her eyes, he thrust into her.

The baker gasped as he moved inside of her for the first time, not used anymore to the intrusion of the most sensitive part of her body. She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from whimpering. She didn't want to discourage the barber, not now that he was finally doing what she had dreamed of for so long.

She hadn't expected their first time to be perfect, but she hadn't thought it would be painful either. However, even as he was anchored inside of her without moving, his eyes closed, severe discomfort made it impossible for her to enjoy the moment.

It was clear to her that Sweeney tried to be gentle and intended to move slowly, so her inner muscles could adjust to his length, but he lost the last remains of his self control within moments. He begun to move inside of her, faster and faster, until he was pounding into the petite woman, groaning with increasing volume as he did so.

Tears sprang to the baker's eyes as she clutched at his back, her nails marking his skin. There were vaguely promising jolts coming from deep within her, but the pain was stronger.

Soon, very soon, it was over. The barber's body tensed completely as he poured into her, but she was almost more grateful that his frantic movements had come to an end than the fact that he whispered her name in her ear as he found his release.

He collapsed atop her but rolled off quickly, blindly pulling her against his still clothed chest. Usually she would've given anything for being pressed against him in such a way, but this wasn't the right moment for silly fantasies. Sooner or later he would come down from his high and face her, and she had no idea how to act towards him.

A long minute later, when he had caught his breath and moved back to look at her, she still didn't know. She had forgotten however how well he knew her now, and that he didn't need words to see what was wrong. Besides, the few tears that weren't absorbed by the fabric of his shirt couldn't lie, whether they'd like to or not.

"I... I hurt you, didn't I?"

His voice was hoarse, but there was also a clear sign of shock and guilt in it as he realized what just had happened.

She nodded, not wanting him to blame himself like he was doing now, but incapable of lying to him, especially right after the moment that she had exposed herself to him in more than one way.

Their gazes locked and only when she looked in his eyes, which were even darker than usual, she realized the true significance of the moment they had shared.

"I'm sorry."

The words might mean nothing at all when others said them, but they implied very much when they came from Sweeney Todd. But they were superfluous, for in his gaze she read all that she wanted know.

"Do you need something?"

"No," she said quickly. She was moved by his concern, but she felt awkward lying there, with her skirts around her waist and her bloomers wherever he had thrown them. She wanted to get dressed before discussing her physical state, which would doubtlessly lead to a conversation about the way he had accidentally hurt her. She seriously doubted however that clothes would make it easier to talk about what just had happened, for she wasn't even sure herself how she felt about it.

He reached for her and his hand brushed against her knee, causing her to shiver.

"Don't worry," Sweeney said, "I'm only making sure that..."

But it wasn't shock or rejection that made her tremble. He simply wanted to ensure himself that he hadn't caused any bruises or perhaps even a loss of blood, but strangely enough her body was reacting to him as if he was touching her intimately.

"Eleanor," he whispered. There was an urgency in his voice and the look of shock and guilt in his eyes was replaced by one of relief and excitement as he too realized how his innocent touch influenced her. "I... there _is_ something that you need."

Before she could even wonder what he was talking about, his left hand reached for her hiked up skirts to keep them in place, and the other moved between her still parted thighs. Without hesitation, he begun to stroke the sensitive skin.

His caresses were slow and gentle, and they didn't hurt – not at all. He was tormenting her in a very different way now, one that was infinitely more pleasant.

He took his time, exploring and pleasuring her with infinite care instead of ravishing her like he had done earlier. Her body relaxed and her eyes fluttered closed as she savored every timeless moment.

She was unaware of the relief that flooded through him as he saw how she reacted to his touch. However, as he carefully slid one, two fingers inside of her, her eyes shot open and widened at the unexpected intrusion. But he simply continued his gentle movements inside of her, touching her in a way that made her gasp and tremble with delight instead of pain.

Wave after wave of increasing pleasure overwhelmed and soon, the pain was nothing but a vague memory. She threw her head back, moaning his name as his fingers were doing miraculous things to her. The intensity of the sensations he caused was almost too much, but she had no other choice than surrender to it completely.

It took a long moment, even as her body gradually relaxed after the peak, to realize that it was over. When she managed to open her eyes at last, Sweeney's face was the first thing she saw. He was staring at her, the expression on his face one she didn't instantly recognize.

Intuitively, she looked down at the source of the bliss he had just caused. To her horror, she saw that his hand was trapped between her thighs even now, because she still pressed them together.

Dread welled inside of her when she realized that she had let herself go completely in Mr. Todd's presence. He doubtlessly was shocked to find out that she wasn't as quiet and composed, even in the throes of passion, as his modest, _perfect_ Lucy.

It took her mind, which was still clouded with pleasure, quite a while to realize that he was looking at her with a strange combination of fascination and curiosity. Apparently, he wasn't disgusted by her own complete lack of control at all; instead, he seemed intrigued. It didn't make it any easier for her heartbeat to slow down.

Both their bodies were exhausted by exertion and the unexpected and overwhelming way their beings had connected. Not having the strength to do otherwise, they didn't bother to get dressed or retreat to one of their bedrooms. The fire and their bodies provided enough warmth and, knowing what just had happened there, she was much fonder now of the comfortable rug than she had already been before.

He moved closer to her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Nellie sighed as she felt how perfectly Sweeney's body fitted against her own. And even when he was falling asleep, he didn't let go off her. He didn't say anything to her, but there was an unspoken promise in the way he held her.

She usually welcomed sleep, because it gave her dreams in which things happened that could never be in her actual life. But now she looked forward to falling asleep for a very different reason: it would bring her quickly to the following morning, the beginning of a new part of her life. Sweeney Todd had proven in a very clear way that he would be much more than a friend to her from now on. Life was going to be better than anything she had ever dreamed of.


	12. December

December

Sweeney Todd looked with an adoring gaze at the auburn haired woman who was sleeping in his arms, somewhat relieved that her body had surrendered to sleep at last. Even now that he slowly but surely was getting somewhat used to the passion that the petite woman was capable of and he had discovered the depth and the power of her love, both in the emotional and physical sense of the word, she still managed to overwhelm him.

He ran a hand over her sweat covered back, his limbs and back protesting as he did so, and remained lying close to her for a bit longer, giving the rhythm of his breathing and the beating of his heart the chance to slow down.

Twining his hand in the baker's hair, he kissed her neck gently. A slight smile graced his usually stern face when she made a soft noise of contentment in her sleep.

It was a strange thing, but lately he had grown to realize how little he knew of the woman he shared his life with these days. Of course, he knew the things about her that others did as well and during the past few weeks he had begun to get to know her physically in the most intimate way possible, but except for that... He was getting familiar with the body, not the woman that it belonged to.

Until a few days ago, he hadn't even known exactly what she meant to him. They had been nothing but a tenant and a landlady for a very long time, and even when he had returned to London and she had become his accomplice, there hadn't been a moment during which he had thought that there could be only a bit more than that between them.

But no matter how unlikely it seemed, they had become friends when they had begun living together in the small cottage that he had built himself, far away from London and by the sea that the baker had dreamed of. And during the months, so slowly but certainly that he hadn't been aware of it until he was lost already, there had grown something between them, something deep and strong, and they had become lovers. But even when they had crossed that boundary, there seemed to be more between them, something he had realized only very recently.

During a night, one very similar to the current one, it had dawned on him. Their kisses and caresses became more loving and meaningful than they had been already, and the trust and devotion that had grown between them had reached such a level, that it could be compared to only one other situation in his life, that too short period of time that he could hardly remember by now and of which he had been sure that he would never experience it again.

This was the exact reason that he couldn't tell her that she meant as much to him as his Lucy had done so many years ago. But even though he loved Eleanor the same way, he couldn't tell her, not as long as the last piece of his heart that the auburn haired woman hadn't conquered yet still reminded him of his Lucy every once in a while.

He knew that there would be a day that he could tell her, that he would be hers completely. He had learned one thing in life, and it was that you'd better take a chance if you were offered one. But even though he couldn't tell her, he could show her.

Sweeney got out of their bed, missing the warmth of her body immediately and being very aware of her quiet but clearly frustrated moan as he moved away from her.

He picked up a small box that he had hidden in his nightstand earlier that day. He opened it to make sure that the ring he had chosen was still there. He did so with making as little sound as he could; he didn't want to ruin the surprise and most of all, the moment was of such significance that he wanted it to go like he planned it to go. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but to him it did seem easier to ask her the same thing he had only meant to ask Lucy if he did so on his own terms.

The few candles that were burning in the bedroom illuminated the golden ring in the box. Satisfied by this, he placed the open box on the nightstand that stood next to her side of the bed. It would be the first thing that she'd see upon waking.

Even though it meant that he had to wait quite a few hours until she would see the ring and make a decision, Mr. Todd wasn't bothered by this. In fact, he was rather sure that he knew her answer already.

He blew out the candles, covering the large room in darkness. The bedroom was the last part of the cottage that was completed; they had recently created one big room by breaking down the wooden wall that had separated both rooms and had rearranged the furniture.

Sweeney wasn't completely familiar yet with the new interior of the room, but although he had to move back to the bed carefully to prevent himself from bumping into pieces of furniture, he had no trouble finding his way back to the sleeping woman once he was in the bed.

He pulled the blankets over their unclothed bodies and cuddled against her, brushing his lips against her warm skin once more.

Before Sweeney gradually fell asleep, the thought occurred to him once more that even though he didn't know Eleanor very well yet, he was more than eager to get to know her completely. If she would accept the ring that he offered her, and he was rather sure that she would, he had the rest of his life to do so.

As he held his future wife in his arms, Sweeney Todd was for once happy that things had turned out the way they had.

The End

* * *

_And that was the final chapter of this story! I hope you enjoyed it, if only because I did so much that I'm writing another fic like this one. The new story, which is both a Nellie/Ben and Sweeney/Nellie one, will be called **Connected - **keep an eye out for it! ;)_


End file.
